


Regret

by HotMolasses



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death of innocent children, Did I mention angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly hurt, No Smut, Pan Angst, Self-Harm, The ending is happy but not much else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/pseuds/HotMolasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pan and Felix are re-born into their next life after Pan murders Felix.<br/>Pan remembers everything.<br/>Felix doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Don't be afraid. Be flattered._

_No!_

 

            Belinda hummed to herself as she worked, picking through the unsorted barrel of hearts. Two more clunked down from above, falling as a pair of humans died. She didn’t glance at them yet; she was still busy with the one in her hand, inspecting it.

            It appeared perfectly red. One hundred percent good. She closed one eye and looked closer. Had to be sure. Couldn’t make mistakes. Humans, so complicated.

            When another creature died, its heart just automatically fell into the bright light that led to the Good Place. But humans, well. The Bad Place was created just _for_ them, because some of them grew so _rotten_ during their lifetime they just _could not_ be given a reward. A few of them managed to still come through pure, but it was unusual, and it was never automatic. It required the utmost care and inspection; because _most_ human hearts came to the Death Fairies as a _mix_.

            A mixed heart couldn’t go into the Good Place, but it certainly didn’t deserve the Bad Place. Belinda sighed as she saw it; a speck of blackness on an otherwise perfect heart. Whoever this human had been, they’d done _something_ they’d considered Wrong or Immoral. She shrugged.

            “Back to life with you, to try to sort it out again.” she said, and she tossed the heart into the Life portal, where it would go where it would go to try again.

            She looked at the two new hearts that had just fallen into her sorting bin. One of them looked pure black, the other, pure red. She picked up the black one and started inspecting it. If it wasn’t _pure_ , if there was even a speck of red, she’d always give these hearts another chance. Sometimes they came back much better! In fact she could think of a few times when a heart that had started off mostly black eventually wound up cleaning itself entirely.

            But alas, not this one. It was completely blackened. Whatever it had done with its life, it considered itself utterly vile and irredeemable.

            “Oh well. Very sad for you, little heart.” she said, and she tossed it towards the Bad portal.

            It flew back, as if on a string, and landed again in her bin. The motion jostled the pure heart that had just landed with it, and Belinda frowned.

            She picked up the heart that looked pure and eyed it. It looked absolutely perfect. Not a splotch on it anywhere. Pure and good, this heart had always been loyal to what it believed in. Never strayed, not once. She picked it up slowly, moving it towards the Good portal, and felt more resistance the further it got from her bin.

            She moved it back, and picked up both hearts together. Squinting, she finally caught sight of the nearly invisible thread that connected them.

            “ _Soul_ mates?” she said, surprised. “ _These_ two?”

            She inspected them both again. She’d never seen anything like it.

            “Marionetta, can you come here for a moment?” she called to the Death Fairy who worked near her. Marionetta flitted over, her black wings shimmering in the ethereal light.

            “What is it?” she asked.

            “Take a look at these two hearts for me? Tell me what you see.”

            Marionetta took both into her hands and studied them.

            “Hmmm. One pure evil, one pure good.”

            “Yes, but now try to pull them apart.”

            She did so, and felt the tug. She peered in closer and saw it.

            “A soul mate thread?   Between _these_ two?”

            “That’s what I said.”

            “It’s so _very_ thin.” she said. “You can hardly see it. I think one of them betrayed the other. They’re barely hanging on.”

            “Well, what should we do?” Belinda asked. “Should we try to break the thread?”

            Marionetta nodded.

            “Let’s. We can’t very well sort them like _this_.”

            They brought out their tools, meant only for the most complicated situations, such as this one. They tried with everything they had to break that thinnest, almost invisible thread, but it held fast.

            “They just won’t separate.” Marionetta said. “We can’t sort them like this. With them bound together, we have to treat them as one heart.”

            Belinda held the pure, red heart in her hand and felt pity.

            “Poor thing.” she said. “I’m so sorry. It’s back to Life with you both.”

            She tossed them into the Life portal and watched them go, wondering how a situation that complicated would eventually turn out. She hummed quietly as she went back to work.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Peter opened his eyes and squinted in the harsh light. He was miserable. Everything hurt, as if his entire body had just been crushed and then released. He was cold. He was starving. He was naked.

            Then his situation got worse. He was surrounded by flesh, by warmth, by…some lady’s arms. She smiled down at him, and he screamed. She continued smiling. It was a horrific nightmare.

            He tried to think. The last thing he remembered, his _cursed_ son was stabbing him _in the back_. He boiled with rage and tried to fly. He couldn’t. He tried to do _anything_ , and couldn’t. He lifted his hand and realized _he was a fucking baby_.

            His stupid infant body grew exhausted. He fell asleep.

 

            When he woke up, he was in a bassinet, on a soft mattress. He heard other babies crying around him. No way. No way, in any realm, was he going through _childhood_ again. Powerless. Magicless. Helpless.

            He summoned all the strength he had. The lights flickered. He smirked inwardly (because this horrible infant’s body could not yet produce proper facial expressions), and felt his power come to him. He drew on it, pulling on it from across realms, across the chasm of death, just enough to fly over the edge of the bassinet. Just enough so that his infant body fell over the side.

            He fell without fear. He was Peter Pan, and he knew the way…correction, he knew _all_ the ways to Neverland, and falling out of your pram was one way. Exactly on cue, just before he hit the ground, a fairy whizzed by and stole him.

 

            He woke up again, screaming, hungry. Ugh. Awful.

            “Peter, come quick!” he heard.

            _Peter_? HE was Peter!

            He looked up and saw the dirty faces of Lost Boys staring down at him curiously. They were…happy. Cheerful. Disgusting.

            Another face, slightly older, with a goofy grin, red hair, and the dorky green cap appeared over him.

            “Aww, a new Lost Boy!” he said, picking Peter up and tossing him in the air. “What shall we call him, fellas?”

            _Fellas?!_

            “I dunno. His face is kinda all scrunchy.”

            The impostor laughed, a _real_ , childish, innocent laugh. Peter wished he could cover his ears. Children had no business laughing like that, _especially_ not Lost Boys!

            “All babies’ faces are scrunchy!” he said.

            “Yeah, but this one’s the scrunchiest.”

            Fake Peter looked down at Pan and smiled.

            “Then that’ll be his name. Scrunchiest.”

            Oh, they were all going to die.

 

            It took _weeks_ , because Peter kept fucking falling asleep.

            He could feel the magic around him; could _feel_ its power, _unharnessed_ , barely used by these idiots that dared to call themselves Lost. But his infant form was too weak to grasp it. It took _weeks_ before he was _finally_ able, through immense concentration, to pluck a leaf from the branches above him and cause it to fall. At first he hadn’t even been sure _he’d_ done it, and not the wind; but after that he was able to do it again, and again. It took a ridiculous amount of concentration, and after plucking only a few leaves, he had to sleep again.

            After a few months, he was able to jostle entire branches above him. After half a year, he was able to snap twigs off the branches and guide them as they fell, causing them to land where he wished. After a full year, he was able to snap large branches, and make them float to the ground slowly; and finally, a little after that, he was able to make them halt in mid-air.

            Somewhere around the one-and-a-half year mark, just as he was learning to _walk_ again (ugh), he was able to lift _himself_ off the ground, just for a moment. His stupid baby legs faltered and he fell on his face, and those _idiot_ boys laughed.

            He put up with them for awhile; he still needed them to bring him food and such; at least until he was able to imagine it up himself. Materializing things still seemed impossible. None of _them_ could do it, not even their so-called “Pan”, but he didn’t let that bother him. He’d figure it out eventually.

            At two, he was walking fairly normal again, and was finally able to explore this new Neverland. The terrain was completely different. There were fairies _everywhere_ , and he found it exceedingly annoying, _especially_ that green one that constantly seemed to follow False Peter around. He called her Tink, which Pan figured was short for Tinker Bell. She wasn’t anything like _his_ Tinker Bell, however. She was annoying and seemed to have a crush on Fake Peter. Well. Wouldn’t she be upset when he died.

            The mermaids were happy, instead of vicious. Hook was a bumbling fool, even though he was sober. There was an _actual_ crocodile, which was the only thing Peter liked about this new Neverland. No Rumplestilkstin. Oh, and no hourglass curse. That was an enormous plus.

            By the time he was four, he had flying down perfectly. Pixie dust abounded here, and Pan flew to the treetops to escape the horrific joyfulness below. He memorized every inch of the island, practicing his magic wherever he went. He could move any object through the air now; enormous boulders, even water, even wind. His stomach growled and he was nowhere near camp, and he tried to envision a simple apple in front of himself. He held out his hand and thought about an apple; about how red it was, about how much it weighed, about how it tasted, about how badly he wanted one. After half an hour, he gave up, grumbling to himself as he walked back to camp. He tripped on a root, cursing as he hit his head on the trunk of a young tree. Apples fell from it, raining down upon him, and he looked up to see a young apple tree that he was _certain_ hadn’t been there before. Not sure how he’d managed _that_ , but sure he’d somehow done it, he happily picked one up and started eating it…only to have his front tooth rip out as he took a bite.

            “Fucking _childhood!_ ” he cried, his voice annoyingly innocent-sounding. A butterfly danced happily in front of his face, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He _glared_ at it, with seething rage, and willed it to die.

            It was incredibly satisfying to watch it cease to flap its wings and twirl down towards the ground, and Pan sneered, finally able to express his face the way he pleased.

            A few more weeks of practicing death, and he was ready. He worked himself up from butterflies to birds to squirrels to boars, and finally a bear, when he marched back towards camp, four-year-old fists clenched tight, ready for battle.

            When he arrived, False Peter wasn’t there. Only those _annoying_ happy “Lost” Boys, tumbling about, giggling, playing together. Peter reached out his hand and aimed at the smallest one- slightly larger than he was. Six, maybe. He thought about the life inside of it, and how he wanted to _vanquish_ it, how it was _invading_ on _his_ island, without his permission. He watched the boy’s face contort, watched his body freeze as he clutched his heart. Peter knew about crushing hearts.

            He squeezed his fingers, and the boy took one last gasp, and fell to the dust, dead. The others rushed around him, crying his name, shaking him. Fools. He worked on the next one; and then next. None of them even noticed him, standing on the edge of the clearing; not one them was even wise enough to run.

            When False Peter came back, his face was covered in shock. He hadn’t ever experienced death; on _this_ Neverland, everything seemed eternal, even the flowers. _Nothing_ died here. He didn’t even know what he was looking at. He thought they were asleep.

            “They’re never going to wake up.” Peter said, walking out into the sun. False Peter snapped his head up to look at him. Tinker Bell flitted around his shoulders, speaking in that silent language Peter couldn’t hear.

            “What do you mean, dead?” False Peter said to her. “What’s ‘dead’?”

            “Why don’t I show you.” Peter said, reaching out his hand. He clutched it around False Peter’s throat. Choking took _so_ much longer to kill something; and he wanted to watch this Fake Peter until it dawned on him, until he _understood_ what death was.

            The realization came to him as his air was cut off. His hands flew up to cross over his chest, trying to clasp his own lungs, which would not work. His eyes peered up at Peter as he fell to the ground, with that look of betrayal, that look of pleading, that unspoken _why_.

            “Because this is _my_ island.” he growled, and flicked his wrist, twitching False Peter’s head until his neck was broken.

            His arm collapsed and he panted from the exertion. He stumbled back and leaned against a tree to rest. Tinker Bell flew _wildly_ at his face, buzzing at him. He flitted her away and she retreated a few feet, then came back at him again, full force.

            Her buzzing grew louder, until he could hear words.

            “Murderer! Evil killer! Who are you? Why have you done this?” she said, yanking at a strand of his hair with all of her fairy might.

            He reached up a hand and clasped it around her, intending to crush her.

            “I already told you, because this is _my_ island.” he answered, squeezing slowly.

            She fell silent and her eyes grew wide.

            “You can _hear_ me?!” she screamed, terror coming across her face that was _not_ the result of his squeezing. He released her, intrigued at her reaction.

            “Of course I can, you’re screaming in my face.”

            She shook her head, holding her ears, as if willing this horrific nightmare to go away.

            “No! No, no…no no no no no!”

            “Shut up, or I will go back to killing you.”

            “No, you _can’t_ be! You _can’t_!”

            He sneered. This fairy was _incredibly_ annoying.

            “Can’t. Be. What.” he spat.

            She flitted up to his face and perched on his nose, then thought better of it, and flew a few feet back.

            “Only Peter Pan can hear me.” she said.

            “I _am_ Peter Pan!” he shouted, and at that, all the leaves rustled; the trees shook. The wind gusted over the island and the flowers started to wilt. He smiled as he felt the _surge_ of power come to him. He eagerly willed for a tree to sprout before his eyes, and it did. It grew intensely fast, widening, growing tall, until it was enormous; until it became the largest tree on the island.

            He smiled a satisfied, evil sneer. He had his power, and now his Thinking Tree back. He was home.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Tinker Bell hated him. She did nothing but insult him and yell at him constantly; and yet she would never _leave_ him.

            “I can’t.” she explained. “I’m _Peter Pan’s_ fairy. I’m the source of your magic, and your belief is the source of my life. Without you, I’d die; without me, you’ll be powerless.”

            “Well it’s a good thing I didn’t kill you, then.” he said, hopping over a log with great effort. His four-year-old legs were still too stubby and short for his liking. He figured he’d let himself age until he was back to his old self; around sixteen or so.

            “You can’t. We’re bound to each other.” she said. He flung around and clasped her tightly in his palm, squeezing _just_ hard enough to be uncomfortable.

            “I am bound to only _one_ other, and it is _not you_.”

            He released her, _seething_ , setting the brush on fire beside him as he walked, just to show his rage. He’d put the fire out later, if he felt like it. Or he’d let the forest burn and re-grow it. If he felt like it.

            “Who?” she asked, flitting after him, appearing unphased by his threats.

            “You’ll see. As soon as I find him.”

            He hadn’t yet figured out how to materialize whatever he wished. He _had_ , however, gotten fairly good at turning one thing into another. And so he stopped at the edge of a small pond, its surface perfectly still and reflective. He stretched out his hand and a wave of power flowed through the water, until he reached down and touched it with his finger, and found a solid mirror on the surface instead.

            “What did you make?” Tinker Bell asked, standing on his shoulder, peering down into the mirror.

            “A magic looking glass.” he said. He spread his palm over it, resting his hand on the cool surface, and closed his eyes.

            “Show me Felix.” he said.

            Power surged out of him, pulling his entire body down onto the mirror as he fell. The trees around the pond bent, their trunks curving inward, as the mirror transcended realms, and then universes, spans of lives, spans of time, and finally reflected an image: a body, lying still and lifeless, beside a well, face up, a gaping hole in its chest.

            Peter growled and rose to his feet angrily.

            “NO!” he shouted, stomping his foot on the glass, causing cracks to spider across it. He grunted, annoyed, and touched his fingers to the glass, healing it.

            “Who is that?” Tinker Bell whispered. “Why is he dead?”

            The image in the mirror blurred, and Peter hit it, trying to make it come into focus, when his tears fell and he could see again.

            “Peter…are you crying?” she asked. He glared at her and swatted her away, wiping the tears from his face angrily. “Who _is_ that? Why is he dead?”

            Peter stomped to the edge of the pond and sat, thinking. Felix. Felix was just a name. The body was just a corpse. It wasn’t _him_. If he went by another name, in this place, then the short spell he’d spoken wouldn’t work. He rose again, and walked to the center of the glass pond.

            “Show me _him_ ,” he said, pointing, “But _here_ , in this universe.”

            The mirror wavered and the image disappeared. The new image came much more easily this time; it didn’t need to cross universes or time, only realms. Before his eyes, a boy appeared, also four years old, with a mop of blond waves on his head. He giggled and laughed, his silver eyes curving in joy as someone spoke to him.

            Arms wrapped around him and scooped him up, tossing him into the air. A father. Peter sank to his knees, his fingers touching the image of his face, tears freely falling now in splashes onto the glass.

            A woman walked into the picture, taking him, holding him tenderly. She sang softly and walked with him back towards a house. A mother. A home.

            Peter’s tears fell like rivers now. He made no effort to stop them.

            “He’s alive.” he said softly. “He’s alive. He came back with me.”

            His fingers clutched at the image, his knuckles turning white as he pressed upon the glass. “He’s happy.” he whispered softly. “He isn’t Lost, this time.”

            Tinker Bell landed softly on his shoulder, and for once, her voice was gentle rather than annoying.

            “Who is he, Peter?” she asked.

            He crawled back to the edge of the glass pond and sat down upon a rock. He watched, for a long time. The boy playing, with toys, with a dog, with his parents. Laughing. Dancing. Happy. _Without him_.

            “My True Love.” Peter said quietly, after a long, long time. Tinker Bell sat down on his shoulder and stared at the image of the boy.

            “True Love? _You_?”

            “I betrayed him.” he said, the words burning in his throat as he said them, for the first time. Said the truth. “ _I_ killed him, in our last life. I don’t deserve him.”

            He waved his hand, and the image in the mirror vanished, leaving the glass to reflect only the leaves of the trees above it.

            “Oh, Peter.” Tinker Bell said, as if she actually cared. He sobbed, silently, tears racking through his chest, snot running down his face. He cried and cried, until the sun set, until the stars appeared, until his four-year-old body had nothing left, and he fell asleep, with nothing but the comfort of a fairy who hated him slightly less than she had before.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Peter grew, and so did his magic. He built treehouses, whole villages of them, with bridges in between. He build sandcastles, three stories high, held up by magic so he could sit atop them and they wouldn’t crumble. Hook had dared to bother him once, so he sunk his ship with a flick of his wrist. He wasn’t in the mood for adventuring with anyone. He wanted to be _alone_.

            He tried not to watch, but he couldn’t stay away from the mirror for long. Maybe every few days, or few months; it was hard to tell, he would walk to it and look. Felix grew at the same rate he did; or rather, he grew to match Felix’s age. His name was Tommy now. His parents were Tom and Linda. They doted on him, their only son. Gave him everything. His room was decorated like the ocean; with sea creatures all on the walls, a bedspread that looked like waves. On the ceiling he had stickers that glowed in the dark, shaped like stars.

            Peter sat on the edge of the pond and watched him, his heart shining whenever he laughed, breaking whenever he cried. He watched him attend his first day of school. Make new friends. Learn how to read. Peter lay on his stomach, head in his palms, enraptured during the day. At night, he cried from loneliness.

            “Why don’t you bring some Lost Boys?” Tinker Bell asked.

            “NO!” he screamed, his seven-year-old fist punching the nearest object, which happened to be a boulder. It shattered into pieces, dust raining down on them both. She never brought it up again.

           

            One night, when they were eight, Peter lay at the edge of the pond simply watching him sleep. He was so innocent; so peaceful. He reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly, wishing he’d done it when he’d had the chance. Wishing he’d done _so_ many things differently. He lay on his side, pretending to sleep next to him, staring up at his ceiling, seeing what he saw.

            A cold, tingling sensation spread through Peter and his eyes grew wide. He sat up, then stood, gaping at the stars on his ceiling. He’d watched him stick them there; the haphazard silliness of a little boy in his Daddy’s arms, and hadn’t noticed until now.

            His hand flew to his mouth in shock.

            “Peter?” Tink said, ever-present and aware of his emotions.

            “It’s our stars.” he said. Tink gave him a look that said “You’re not making any sense.”

            “It’s _our stars_ , Tink! The stars of Neverland, he stuck the _Neverland sky over his bed._ ”

            Tinker Bell squinted down at the mirror, then looked up at the sky.

            “No it isn’t.” she said.

            “Not _this_ Neverland! _Our_ Neverland, where we lived, for a thousand years and longer, side by side, Felix, always at my side. _He remembers_.”

            She stared down at the stars, bewildered. Peter started to sob again, his fingers clutching at the glass in agony.

            “Felix, Felix, I’m sorry!” he cried. In the bed, the boy stirred a bit and rolled to his other side, and slept on peacefully.

 

            Peter couldn’t tear his eyes from the pond after that. He watched Felix incessantly, all day, every day. The sandcastles he’d built started to crumble; the treehouses he’d made fell into disrepair. Neverland itself started to wilt, without the magic of its master to keep it in good health.

            Tinker Bell tried to get him to leave, but her efforts fell on deaf ears. Even flying directly in front of his eyes did no good; he would simply snap his fingers, and she would be somewhere else—usually on the far side of the island, taking a day and a half to fly back to him. Deep rings formed under his eyes, and he started to grow skinny. Frighteningly skinny.

            “You have to _eat_ , Peter.” she said, shoving a pile of berries in front of him. “Just a few bites, please?”

            “Tomorrow’s his ninth birthday.” Peter said weakly. “He wants Transformers, and a thing called a Nintendo, and a skateboard. Mom’s making his favorite cake; strawberry with chocolate icing. He’s gonna invite the whole third grade.” he said. Tinker Bell hopelessly flew a berry up to his eyelevel.

            “Peter, _please_ eat, or you will die.”

            “I _should_ die.” he said.

            “Then Neverland will die! Then _I_ will die!”

            Peter only shrugged. Frustrated, she threw the berry at his face. It bounced off his forehead and landed with a splat on the edge of the pond. He vanished it away with a flick of his finger.

            “Don’t get mess on Felix.” he said. She stormed off angrily and didn’t return until the next evening.

 

            Peter was lying on his stomach, chin in his hands, watching Felix play with his birthday presents in his room.

            “He’s supposed to be asleep.” Peter said dreamily. “But he’s too excited. His parents see that his light is on, but they’re letting him stay up because it’s his birthday.”

            Tinker Bell had no energy to argue with him today, so she simply settled on the top of his head, making a nest in his light brown hair.

            There was a knock on the door, and Felix turned to see his mother walk in.

            “Your Aunt Susan just stopped by to drop this off.” she said, handing him another gift. She gave him a kiss on his forehead and closed the door softly. Felix excitedly plopped on his bed and tore at the paper. It was a book.

            Peter jerked into a sitting position, his heart racing as he saw the cover.

            Peter Pan.

            He watched with wide eyes as Felix studied the cover, frowning as seriously as a nine-year-old could frown. He opened the cover, cracking the spine, and started to read.

            The hours rolled by, and neither boy moved. Felix was glued to the book, and Peter was glued to him. Felix’s expression never changed, remaining at full concentration as he read, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper as he went. The clock read past midnight; three hours past his bedtime, and yet he read, not stopping until he finished the book.

            He then flipped to the beginning and started to read it again. He got up to the part where Wendy sewed Peter’s shadow back on when he fell asleep, book open on his chest.

            Peter’s stomach growled at him.

            “Tink, I’m fucking _starving_ , isn’t there anything to eat around here?” he cried, and she sighed heavily with relief.

 

            Felix read the book over and over and over. He brought it to school with him. Brought it to his grandparents’ house. Brought it to friends’ houses. He shared the story with anyone who would listen. The pages of the book became dog-eared. For Christmas, his parents bought him a Peter Pan movie, and he sat, glued to the screen, watching it over and over and over.

            He went to the school library and took out another copy. A different edition. He brought it home and started to compare them. He went to his desk and opened a blank notebook, and started to make notes. Peter tried to see what they were, but _Felix_ was the focus of the mirror, and his shoulders blocked the words.

            For the next year, his parents were delighted that he loved something so much. They bought him Peter Pan bedsheets, Peter Pan toys, Peter Pan posters. Felix took markers and pencils to it all, crossing things out, making notes, writing _Yes_ and _No_ in the margins, making corrections. At one point he fell asleep on his desk, the book under his hand, opened to the page where the Lost Boys names were first listed. In the margins he had written _\+ Rufio, Baelfire, Henry_.

            Peter’s veins turned cold even as his heart race faster.

            “He’s remembering, Tink.” he said. “He’s _remembering_.”

            When Felix started middle school, the kids began to make fun of him for his Peter Pan obsession. His parents started to discourage it. He became more withdrawn. Spoke less. Shut himself in his room.

            Peter was absolutely torn. Half of him hoped that Felix would continue to remember; the other half desperately wished he’d forget.

           

            One night, Peter abruptly rose from the side of the pond and started walking towards the bluffs.

            “Peter? Are you finally done obsessing over him?” she asked, hopeful.

            “Yes.”

            “Oh, thank the Blue Fairy!” she cried. “Can we go back to adventuring now? Where are we going?”

            “To see Felix.”

            “What? That is the opposite of not obsessing!”

            Peter climbed to the top of the bluff and pulled pixie dust out of thin air, sprinkling it over himself. He rose slowly off the ground. Having not flown for four years didn’t have any dampening effect on his ability to do it. He started off through the sky, already knowing the way; having always known the way.

            “Peter, what are you _doing_?” she asked. “Are you going to bring him here, like a Wendy?”

            “No.” he said, his face determined. “I’m going to make him forget me.” he said. “So he can be happy.”

            Tink covered her mouth with her hand, and flew down into the collar of Peter’s shirt as he sped up. She looked at his face and saw his level of determination, and tears welled up in her own eyes as she saw that he _meant_ it.

            “It’s very, very sad.” she said quietly. “But very, very noble.”

            “It’s not noble.” he said. “I just love him.”

            She snuggled into his neck, where it was warm, trying to hide from the wind a bit as they flew through the night sky.

            Peter alighted on the rooftop of the house he’d watched for so long. He floated down to that window, the one he’d stared through from both sides for years and years. It opened easily for him; silly things like locks and screens not able to keep him out.

            He silently landed on the bedroom floor, and watched Felix sleeping. All the sights were familiar; he’d known them as long as Felix had. He inhaled, breathing in his sweet scent, and walked silently towards the bed. He reached out his palm to rest on the sleeping blond’s head, and cast a forgetting spell.

            Tommy stirred and rolled over, then fell back into a peaceful sleep. Peter Pan walked back to his window and left, the quiet sobs of Tinker Bell the only sound in his ear.

 

            Tommy cleaned out his room after that. The Peter Pan things slowly disappeared, being replaced by “cool” stuff; band posters and sports figures, a pile of baseball cards took over his bookshelf. Peter stopped watching him every day; it caused him greater pain and also greater joy, to watch Tommy blossom into happiness as he forgot about his past life. When he started high school, he had tons of friends; he was kind, and likable, and loyal to a fault.

            He joined the baseball team, and the soccer team. He liked physical games; he was always in shape. He jogged in the mornings and lifted weights in the afternoons, and he grew taller, and taller, and taller, until he towered over his father and his mother complained about the size of his shoes. His voice deepened and he started to grow stubble. They became sixteen; and by now, Peter had stopped crying.

            He still preferred to be alone, and sadness was still his mood most of the time, but he had run out of tears. He glanced at Tommy sleeping, now so tall his feet hung off the bottom of the bed, his blond hair long and wavy as it fell over his ears.

            Peter knew he couldn’t get much older before Neverland rejected him. He raised his hand above his head, to rip time from himself, to stop growing old. He paused. It was the very last thing they shared; being the same age. Once he did this, Tommy would grow older than him. For a short while, that would be right. Felix had always been a year older than Pan. But then, he would continue to grow. Peter would stay young, and he would watch Tommy grow up.         

            He smiled sadly and looked at Tinker Bell. She gave him an encouraging nod, and with a stroke of his hand, he stopped his own aging. He felt it; the connection they shared being severed. There were no words to describe it. It was painful and sweet, awful and wonderful, incredibly right and also very, very wrong.

            In the bed, Tommy jerked awake. He groaned and clasped his head. He threw back the covers and stumbled in the dark to his closet, where he started to dig through boxes shoved in the back.

            Peter watched, his eyebrows crinkling on his forehead. Tommy yanked out a box, causing everything on top of it to fall, clattering to the ground with a racket. The door to his room flew open.

            “Tommy, you okay?” Mom asked.

            “Fine.” he said. “Just looking for something.”

            She gave him a strange look, her eyes wandering over the mess, and shut the door softly. He pulled a ratty notebook out of a mess of old toys and opened it.

            “Neverland.” it said, in a third-grader’s handwriting. His fingers lightly traced over the pages as he read it in the dim light of his bedside lamp. Peter stared, unable to move.

            “Peter.” Tommy said, and Peter fell to his knees.

            “I’m here.” he whispered.

            Tinker Bell flitted in front of his face.           

            “I thought you cast a forgetting spell?” she said with an accusatory tone.

            “I did. You saw it. You saw it work.”

            She turned and watched. Tommy’s fingers left the pages of the book and moved up to his own face, where he traced over his right cheek, feeling for something that should be there but wasn’t. Then his hand moved subconsciously to his chest, his palm pressing over his heart, and he frowned.

            Peter crumbled to the ground, tears welling up in his eyes, unable to hold back his sobs.

            “No, don’t.” he said. “Don’t! Don’t remember me! Don’t remember!” he screamed. Storm clouds rose up out of the sea, swirling over Neverland in a thunderous rage as sobs tore through Peter’s chest. He pounded on the glass with his fists as the rain burst over the land, drenching everything in seconds, the downpour so heavy it knocked leaves from the trees and made the grass flatten to the ground.

            The glass of the pond became covered with water, first a few inches, then a foot, then three feet. The ground flooded everywhere, as Peter sat, unmovable as the water raged around him. Tinker Bell flew into the collar of his shirt and clutched it, trying not to get blown away by the wind or washed away by the water.

            It stormed for five days, until Peter collapsed, unconscious.


	5. Chapter 5

When he awoke, the sun was out, and Tinker Bell was again holding food in front of his face.

            “No, Tink. I want to die.” he said.

            “Please don’t.” she replied.

            “He needs me to die, so he can forget.” he said.

            She put down the nut she was holding and walked up to his face, which lay half-buried in a puddle of mud.

            “I don’t think that will help.” she said softly. “You didn’t _do_ anything to make him remember, Peter. He’s doing it on his own. He _wants_ to remember you.”

            Peter closed his eyes tightly, pain etched on his face in familiar lines.

            “Only until he remembers what I did to him.” Peter said softly. “And then he’ll also wish he’d forgotten me.”

            She didn’t know how to answer that. So she went about with a tiny bucket, trying to bail out the water from the puddle Peter’s face lay in.

 

            The blond boy became withdrawn again, only this time it was more so. He would come home from school and lock himself in his room, pulling out all his old notes and books and drawings. He’d kept _everything_ ; everything he’d written himself. The toys were gone but he didn’t care about those; they were wildly inaccurate. He started to rip the pages out of the notebook and taped them to the wall, scribbling on them, writing, erasing, changing. He drew, and drew and drew, the shape of Neverland appearing on the pages; the Cave of Echoes, Pan’s flute, Skull Rock.

            Peter was helpless to do anything but watch. He stopped hanging out with his friends outside of school, and said little when he was with them in school. He quit soccer, and then after baseball season was over declared he wasn’t signing up next year.

            For his seventeenth birthday, he asked for a sewing machine. Hoping to give him a new hobby, _any_ interest besides Neverland, his parents happily agreed. He stayed up late, for hours and hours, sewing and sewing, making pants, a shirt, a cape, all brown.

            Peter watched him, transfixed, his heart flying through wild fluctuations, unable to stop or change anything. After so many years of pain, he had thought he could no longer feel hope—but he did. He hoped. And he hated himself for it. He reminded himself of what he was hoping for; for Felix to destroy his good life, give up the love of his family, his friends, everything good, only to be with a person who had betrayed him.

            His mother knocked softly on his door.

            “Tommy?”

            “I’ve told you, that’s _not_ my name!” he shouted.

            “Right. Okay. Um, would you like some dinner?” she asked, timidly. He sat on his bed, a stick and knife in his hand, whittling. Whittling, whittling, carving sticks into arrows, bending a green branch into a bow.

            “Not hungry.” he said. The doorknob jiggled, but it was locked. Mom gave a soft sob and walked away. Peter’s heart stung.    

            They took the lock off of his door, but he no longer seemed to care. His mother tried to connect with him.

            “Tommy…”

            “Not. My. Name.” he growled, his eyes flashing at her from underneath his hood, which he never, ever removed. It made him an absolute recluse at school, though no one _dared_ to beat him up. One kid had tried that, only to find a rock to his teeth and four months of dental work. Tommy had been suspended for three days over that.

            “Right.” she said gently, as she sat gingerly on the edge of his bed. “Um. What _is_ your name?” she asked quietly, fighting back tears.

            “Don’t know.” he replied, jerking the knife as he carved another arrow, not seeming to care about the nicks and cuts on his fingers. “Not in the books.”

            “Tom…Sweetie, those books…are pretend. They’re imaginary.” she said. His lips curled up into a sneer.

            “Not my problem you don’t believe.” he said.

            When he said those words, Peter’s heart felt an enormous jerk. The trees around the looking-glass pond that had spent the last ten years bent over, looking down, straightened. Tinker Bell looked about her wildly as the plants started to grow; grass started to sprout up out of the mud.

            A fairy appeared; the first one Tinker Bell had seen in a decade. She flitted over and started talking to it; though Peter couldn’t hear the conversation. She squeaked, a high-pitched noise, and flew over to Peter faster than he’d ever seen, crashing into his face.

            “What?”

            “She is _Felix’s_ fairy.” Tinker Bell said, wide-eyed. “That’s what she told me. She was born out of the belief of Felix.”

            Peter jerked his head back to the looking-glass, heart beating faster. The ice that had been in his veins turned to heat. His entire body began to thaw. Neverland started to bloom again, recovering after the torrential floods that had ruined it such a short time ago.

           

            Tommy’s parents brought him to see a doctor. He sat in the sterile office, on a white leather loveseat, facing a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair.

            “So, son. Your parents tell me you like the Peter Pan stories.”

            “They’re not _stories_.” he growled out from under his hood. “They’re _real_.”

            “I see.” the doctor said, jotting down some notes on a medical chart. “Tell me about them.”

            “They’re in pieces. One book has some facts right, another book has other facts right. Some movies have some facts right. But nothing is _right_.” he said. “I try to remember it all, but I can’t, it’s like there’s this fog in my head, stopping me. It used to be so much _clearer_.”

            Tinker Bell’s mouth fell open as Peter stared, unmoving.

            “Your forgetting spell.” she whispered. Peter didn’t say a word.

            “I see.” the doctor said, making more notes. “I also understand that you keep asserting your name isn’t Tommy.”

            He growled and balled his hands into fists, appearing so threatening that the doctor scooted back in his chair a little.

            “That’s because it _isn’t_.”

            “That’s fine, son. Just tell me what you would like me to call you. What’s your name?”

            “I don’t _know_!” he screamed in frustration. “It’s not in _any_ of the books! I’m not in _any_ of the stories, no plays, no movies, _nothing_. It’s like he erased me on purpose.”

            Peter froze completely.

            “Who?” the doctor asked.

            “Pan!” the blond teenager shouted, jumping to his feet. He towered over the doctor, who was clearly using all of the restraint he had not to rise from his chair and run from the room.

            “It’s alright. I’ll help you figure out your name.” the doctor said. The blond boy snorted with disbelief, but he sank back into the couch. The doctor relaxed.

            “You don’t know it.” he growled. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll tell me my name when he comes for me.”

            A cry escaped Peter’s lips and he clutched towards the mirror. His heart beat with pain as he pounded his fists on the glass until it shattered. The pond turned back into water, and he fell with a splash. Unwilling to swim to the surface, he let himself sink, down to the bottom, down to the muck.

            Tinker Bell dove in after him, yanking on the top of his hair with her tiny fairy hands. She shook her wings, and even in the water, pixie dust fell and swirled over Peter, so much of it that he started to float back up. She covered him in dust, until he weighed absolutely nothing, and she was able to pull him from the pond, gasping, choking.

            She slapped him across the face, which he barely felt.

            “Stop that! It’s too _late_ , Peter! Don’t you see? He _knows_ you. He _remembers_ you! When you first told me he was your True Love, I didn’t believe it! I honestly thought you were nuts! But now, after all this time, I see you were right! You two belong together. You can’t die. He _needs_ you.”

            Peter sobbed, hugging his knees, the pond forming back into a looking-glass without his even thinking about it, it had spent so much time that way.

            They were back in the doctor’s office, and he had the boy lying down on the loveseat, his feet hanging over the end. The doctor was speaking softly to him, waving a finger over his eyes.

            “You are very relaxed. You are feeling very sleepy.” the doctor said, and Peter could do nothing but watch as those silver eyes closed, and the boy fell asleep….though he hardly looked relaxed. In fact, he tensed.

            “Are you with me?” the doctor asked. The boy sneered.

            “What a stupid question.” he said.

            “Whom am I speaking to?” the doctor asked.

            “Felix.” he said. Peter’s heart started to race. He stood, staring down into the glass.

            “Felix, nice to meet you.” the doctor said.

            “Go fuck yourself.” Felix replied, and Peter laughed. He _laughed_.

            Fairies sprung up out of the ground, some from flowers, some from bushes, some appearing from nowhere at all. Tinker Bell flitted in delight around Peter’s head, Neverland growing stronger as his heart beat with more hope.

            “Where are you, Felix?” the doctor asked. A smirk spread across Felix’s face. His speech was slower; he drew out his vowels, pronouncing words the way he used to. Peter’s heart leapt at every word that fell from his lips.

            “Neverland.” he said. “Home.”

            “I see.” the doctor replied, making notes. “Is anyone there with you?”

            The smirk on Felix’s face grew, somehow both more delighted and more sinister at the same time.

            “Pan.” he said.

            “Right.” the doctor replied. “And what are you doing?”

            Felix’s eyebrows moved up, though his eyes stayed closed.

            “Fighting Hook.” he said.

            The doctor asked him a series of more questions, every one of which made Peter’s face smile brighter, one side of his lips rising higher than the other. When the doctor woke Felix up, he repeated what he’d said back to him.

            Felix rose, his arms vanishing into his cape as he moved with a new kind of fluidity he hadn’t had before.

            “Thank you, doctor.” he said, drawing out the words long and slow. Pan smirked brightly, his eyes shining green as he watched the mischief spread across Felix’s face.

            “Are you going to him, then?” Tinker Bell said, her face smiling as well, though her expression was far more innocent.

            “Yes.” Peter said. “The moment the sun sets.” She giggled and twirled on his shoulder. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet him!”

            Pan snorted at her.

            “You’ve known him his entire life.”

            “Well, sort of, but not _really_.” she said. “He still doesn’t _really_ remember. But he will, once you bring him here, I just know it!”

            Peter sighed, the smile vanishing from his face.

            “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

 

            He watched, eyes transfixed, as he waited for night to fall. He hadn’t ever thought about it until _now_ , but the days and nights of Neverland matched exactly the days and nights of where Felix lived. Of course they would, he realized, too late. The fact that he’d _ever_ thought he could break their connection quickly became the most ridiculous thing he’d ever believed.

            As evening fell, Felix’s parents spoke softly downstairs, fretting, as Felix walked up to his room. He shut the door and sat on his bed in the familiar way he did when he was whittling. He started to carve another arrow, when he paused and looked down at the knife.

            The fingers of his free hand rose up to his face, tracing over his cheek and the bridge of his nose. He rose and walked to the mirror, tracing the pattern of his old scar with his fingertips, glancing down at the knife.

            “No.” Peter said, jerking forward. “Don’t.”

            Peter glanced up at the sky. The sun was still at least two hours above the horizon, and he willed it to move faster; but even with all the power he had, that was not something he could do. He turned in horror as he watched Felix bring the knife up to the bridge of his nose.

            “Don’t!” Peter cried, but Felix could not hear him. He pressed the blade in deeply, not wincing, not hissing, but staring perfectly deadpan into the mirror as he carved the scar _exactly_ as it should be across his face. The blood ran down over his cheek, dripping onto his cape, onto the floor. Tinker Bell buried her face in Peter’s neck, and Felix dropped the knife onto the floor, staring at himself.

            “Tom…Fe…Sweetie, we wanted to ask you if…” his mother started, when she saw him. She screamed and ran to him, her hands flitting to touch his face but pausing before they actually did.

            “Tommy, what have you _done_?!” she cried, tears springing to her eyes as a wide, crooked smile spread across his face.

            “Felix.” he said, and she sobbed, running from the room, screaming for her husband to call for an ambulance.

           

            Peter started to pace as the sun _refused_ to move any faster. His hands fidgeted and his feet moved nimbly over the ground, the fairies flitting about around him as he stared into the pond.

            They brought Felix to the hospital, where doctors tried to attend to his face. He fought them, knocking three onto their asses before they called for orderlies from the mental ward. Three enormous men tackled him to the ground and pinned him down, while a doctor injected him with something, causing him to still.

            They strapped him to a bed and cleaned his face, stitching the wound. Annoying tears kept getting in Peter’s eyes, obstructing his vision. He glared at the sun, now inches from the horizon, pacing ever faster as he watched the horror unfold in the looking glass.

            Felix groaned and started to come to, strapped down to the hospital bed. His parents sat beside him, worry contorting their once kind faces. They looked old, now; tired, worn out. Peter had spent _so_ much time watching them that he felt sorry for them; he actually hurt for them. But there was nothing he could do about that.

            Felix jerked and tried to sit up, yanking on the restraints that held him to the bed. He tried to scratch at the stitches on his face.

            “Get them _off!_ ” he screamed, and his mother flew from the room, sobbing. His father rose to his bedside and looked down at him, pain on his face.

            “Tommy…”

            “ _Felix!_ ”

            The man paused, and started again.

            “Son, please, just tell us what you need. We’ll give you anything…”

            “I need _Pan_.” he said, growling with teeth bared. His father shook his head and walked slowly out of the room, and finally, _finally_ , the sun dipped below the horizon.

            Peter took to the sky without hesitation, following the path he’d taken so many years ago when he’d come to Felix’s window the first time. The stars were barely starting to come out, but he knew the way as if he’d flown it a thousand times. The sky was not even black yet; a deep navy, when he arrived at the hospital, and floated down towards the window, knowing exactly which one beckoned him.

            There he was, tied to the bed, asleep, his hair matted and stringy around his head from all of his struggling. He was out cold; they must have drugged him again while Pan was flying. He reached out and touched the bars that covered the window, and they vanished. He flicked his fingers and the window opened. He flew through it and landed softly on floor of the hospital room, walking silently to Felix’s side.

            He leaned down and touched the restraints around his wrists, and they fell open. He waved his hand over the stitches on his face, and they vanished. He traced his fingers slowly over the wound, sealing it, scarring it over, his heart pounding wildly as he touched Felix for the first time in two lives.

            “Who’re you?” a voice came from the corner, in the darkness. Peter’s head snapped up, and he saw Felix’s father rise from the chair where he’d been sleeping. His mother awakened and opened her eyes when she heard the commotion.

            Peter said nothing. He leaned down and placed his lips on Felix’s, breaking the forgetting spell he’d put upon him when he was a child. Felix inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, that familiar smirk spreading to his lips as he saw the face above him.

            “Pan.” he said. Peter smirked back at him and stepped away from the bed. Felix rose, in one smooth motion, his fingers rising to his face, feeling the scar where it belonged. His smile widened.

            “Who…sec…security!” his father tried to shout, but Peter flicked a finger and his voice was suddenly hoarse, unable to create more than a whisper.

            Felix turned to face his parents, the smile on his face contrasting with the fear and pain on theirs.

            “Mom, Dad.” he said. “This is Peter.”

            They started forward, until Peter lifted off the ground, hovering a foot above it in front of them. They froze in shock, their mouths hanging open, as Peter reached out his hand and Felix took it.

            He floated off the ground then as well, and the two of them headed for the window. Peter paused on the sill, and Felix looked confused, not understanding the delay.

            “They were good to you.” he said. “Say goodbye.”

            Felix turned and looked at them, a bit of sorrow coming to his face then.

            “I’m sorry.” he said. “It couldn’t be helped.”

            And then they were gone, vanished from his parents’ sight, the short time Felix spent with them fading from his mind even as they flew.

 


	6. Chapter 6

            When they landed in Neverland, Tinker Bell raced up to them and started yapping away at Felix. He swatted at her, and Peter laughed.

            “Felix, meet Tink.” he said. Felix raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged.

            “Cut me some slack; she’s the only company I’ve had for seventeen years.”

            Tinker Bell continued flitting around his head in circles, finally settling on top of it, until he tried to squish her again. She flew back to Peter and rested on his shoulder.

            “He’s a jerk, Peter. You two were made for each other.”

            He laughed at that, and saw Felix’s annoyed face.

            “Never mind, she’s only a fairy.” Peter said, stepping closer to him. “Do you remember now.” he asked, his voice dropping much lower. Felix stood, his face back to the usual calm expression he tried to always wear. Except when Pan was around.

            A smile cracked across his lips.

            “Everything.” he said. Peter moved in closer, wanting to touch him, to rectify so many mistakes, correct so many wasted years of not appreciating him.

            “Do you remember how you died.” Peter asked, his voice soft and low.

            Felix’s face hardened, his silver eyes boring into Peter’s face, his hand flying up to his chest to cover his heart.

            “Yes.”

            Neither of them moved for a long time.

            “And yet you would stand here with me.” Peter said.

            “As if I have a choice.” Felix replied.

            “If you did, would you choose differently?” Peter asked, his voice cracking with pain as he said it. “Because if you will it, I will make it so. You can have your life with your parents back.” he said.

            “No.” Felix replied, without even needing to consider it.

            “Then am I forgiven?” Peter asked, his voice softer; full of even more pain, and yet also hope.

            Felix paused.

            “Tell me why.”

            Peter closed his eyes tightly, squeezing them shut as he tried to fight the tears. He’d already cried so many; how was it that he had any left?

            “I was a fool.” he admitted. “I valued my power over you.” he opened his eyes and forced himself to meet Felix’s gaze. “I will never do that again.”

            Felix studied him for a long, long time.

            “Then prove it.” he said. “Give it up.”

            Peter looked down at his hands as Tinker Bell gasped, shivering on his shoulder.

            “No, Peter. We’ll all die!” she said.

            “I’m sorry, Tink, but I don’t care if Neverland dies.” he replied. “I already made the wrong choice once.”

            Tinker Bell started to sob, and Felix’s eyes flitted to her, squinting.

            “She’s upset because without Pan, Neverland dies, and so does she.” he explained. Felix smirked.

            “I didn’t say you should destroy _Pan_.” Felix said slowly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I just said for _you_ to no longer have his power.” He lifted his hand and raised it towards Peter. “Give it to me.”

            Understanding spread over Peter’s face and his eyes grew wide. This was it. This was his chance. His _only_ chance to undo the mistake he had made. He held out his hands and turned up his palms. The wind picked up, and the trees quivered. Leaves rushed past them and the fairies all darted for cover. Green magic started to rise from Peter’s palms, pixie dust swirling around his entire body.

            “Take it.” he said. Felix stepped forward, holding his hands over Peter’s palms, their eyes locked together.

            “You’ll become old.” Felix said. “You’ll be a man again.”

            “Only if you will it.” Peter replied. Their palms hovered inches from each other’s, and the power sparked between them, flashes of lightening from one set of fingertips to the other. “Take my power.”

            Felix stepped closer, until Peter had to bend his elbows to keep their hands near each other. His silver eyes locked onto Peter’s and he smiled.

            “Never.” he replied, moving his palms to the back of Peter’s hands, closing his fingers over them, covering Peter’s hands with his until his fingers closed.

            “What.” Peter whispered, and Felix leaned into him, speaking softly, inches from his face.

            “I just needed to know that you would.” he said. “My life is to serve Pan. How can I serve him if I _am_ him?” he said.

            Peter closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Felix’s, hard. His hands flew to his face and held his cheeks, his fingers tracing over his scar, tangling into his hair as tears fell down his face. Felix’s arms wrapped around him tightly, and Peter spread a wave of magic over him, changing his modern clothes back into the rough linens of Neverland, replacing his sneakers with proper leather boots, putting back the feathers that were woven into his hair.

            They pulled apart, breathless, and Felix smirked down at Pan.

            “Been waiting for that for a long time.”

            Peter only leaned forward and kissed him again, then again, Tinker Bell sighing happily on his shoulder, whispering nonsense about the beauty of true love.

            They pulled apart again, and Felix smiled softly.

            “It’s good to be back, Pan.” he said, and Peter closed his eyes and drank in the sound of his name on Felix’s lips.

            “So what adventure are we going to embark on now?” Felix asked.

            “Well.” Peter replied, opening his eyes with an impish expression. “Now that I have my second-in-command back, I was thinking we need some people to command.”

            A wide, impish smile spread across Felix’s face.

            “I know you just got back home.” Peter said. “But do you care to follow me on a hunt for some Lost Boys?”

            “I’ve already followed you across death.” Felix replied. “Do you think there’s anywhere you can go to get away from me?”

            Peter grinned and reached out his hand. Felix took it, his smile just as devious, and Tinker Bell waved excitedly as she watched her two new masters fly off into the night. She sighed dreamily at the power of true love, Neverland as whole and magical as it had always been, even if it was darker now. Maybe she kind of liked it that way.

           

            Marionetta happened to glance over at the Life portal and she smiled as she saw them flying, holding hands.

            “Belinda, come look!” she said. “Remember those two soul mates, one pure evil, one pure good?”

            Belinda flitted over and peered down, watching the hearts shine as they found each other. “Oh, I _knew_ it! I knew all they needed was another chance.” she said. She peered in at the evil heart and was giddy with delight. “Look, Marionetta! Red swirls, all through it! Here’s some truth, and selflessness, and compassion. And love, and empathy, and even gratefulness!”

            Marionetta smiled. She glanced at the good heart and saw a small speck there.

            “Aww, this one got some guilt on it.” she said.

            “Well, that’s okay.” Belinda replied, watching the bond between the two hearts strengthen, far more than just a thread now, but a strong, sturdy woven rope. “They still have a lot of work to do. But they _found_ each other.” she said dreamily. She went back to work, humming to herself, delighted in her job and in the fact that once again, she got to watch a happy ending.

 

  


End file.
